Page 43 of Remember Us This Way

As if forgetting all about the keys in his hand, he glances down, studying them for a moment and not even pretending to make a move to leave. “Where’s my keyring?” he questions, his tone thick with authority, demanding a response.

I groan, realizing we’re playing the Noah game tonight and that he’s not leaving until he’s gotten exactly what he came for.

I shrug my shoulders and return my hand to the towel, gripping it with everything I have. I arch a brow, not willing to allow this to go down however he thinks it will, even if I don’t quite know how I want it to go down.

“You mean my keyring?” I question, pleased to find he has enough sense not to push me on the whole little warrior thing. “Tell me, just how many times have you snuck in here and stolen my shit? Better yet, why do you steal my shit? Is your little dark soul so depraved of human contact that you need to take my things just to feel something?” I stride toward him, my gaze narrowed on his. “Or did you finally realize that you pushed away the one good thing you had left and now you’re desperately clinging to any piece of me you can get your hands on?”

Noah clenches his jaw, and I know without a doubt that I’ve struck a nerve. “You certainly think highly of yourself.”

He holds my stare, much like he had during dinner, and the air is knocked right out of my lungs. He’s so intense and demanding. His presence alone fills the room with a thick tension, and I have no idea what to do with it.

Raising my chin, I stand just an inch away. So close that I can feel his warm breath brush across my bare shoulder. Lowering my voice, I keep my eyes locked heavily on his. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Noah doesn’t respond, just continues staring as the heat and tension become almost unbearable between us. Goosebumps spread across my body, and I know he sees it. He feels it too. Moving this close to him was a mistake. A colossal one.

My hands shake, and yet for some reason, I can’t find it within me to move away.

“Where’s the keyring, Zoey?” he grumbles, that deep tone filling my room as his stare holds me captive.

“You’re not getting it back,” I tell him, forcing my stare away and breaking his hold on me. I cross my room, certain that if he were to look a little closer, he’d notice the way my whole body shudders under his intense stare. “Feel free to see yourself out.”

Striding into my walk-in closet, I kick the door shut behind me, but when I don’t hear the familiar click of it closing, I glance over my shoulder to find Noah walking in behind me. My back stiffens, and the second he closes the door, there suddenly isn’t enough oxygen in the room.

I turn to face him, ready to tell him to leave, but as he continues toward me, his heated eyes full of determination, the words catch in my throat, and all I can do is watch as he closes the distance between us.

My chest heaves, rising and falling faster than ever as my hands shake at my sides. The tension ramps up, almost to the point of physical pain, and my body screams to reach out and touch him. I’ve never quite felt something so intense in my life. All that exists in the world is him. His dark, intense eyes, his scent filling my small closet, the space closing between us.

My heart thumps erratically, but he just keeps coming, those deep, haunted eyes not daring to look away from mine.

I back up a step, then another, until my back hits the overflowing row of clothes hanging in my closet. I’m desperate to keep the distance between us as I read the intention in his eyes. He’s just as lost as I am, breathing just as heavily, but he’s not stopping, not daring to look away and break this connection between us.

“Noah,” I breathe, a soft warning that neither of us truly hears.

He takes the final step into me, and I press my hand to his chest as if I could somehow force the distance between us, but we both know I’m not about to do that. I feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm, and a thrill shoots through me, realizing he’s just as affected as I am. He swallows hard, his gaze shifting over my face before finally dropping to my lips.

My stomach swirls with butterflies as the tension in the small walk-in closet becomes unbearable, and I can’t help but wonder if he feels it too.

Of course he feels it. How could he not?

His hand lifts to my bare shoulder, his fingers gently caressing the skin as he trails them right down to my wrist, leaving goosebumps spreading across my body, my skin burning from his electric touch.

Noah’s hand falls away, and just when I think this heated moment is going to slip out of my grasp, I feel his fingers slipping beneath the fold of my towel before brushing against my bare waist. His fingers tighten, holding me there, and despite being completely naked beneath this towel, I trust him with everything I am, knowing he would never push me past my limits.

Noah’s thumb brushes against my waist as shivers trail over my skin, and feeling brave, I allow my hand at his chest to slowly trail down his body, feeling the tight ridges of his muscles below. His chest heaves, mirroring my own heavy breathing, and as my shaking hand finds the hem of his shirt, I slip it beneath the fabric and feel his warm skin under my fingers.

I almost whimper, having imagined this very moment for years.

I’ve seen him without a shirt so many times, hugged him, held him, even kissed him, but it never felt like this. He’s different now. He’s not a boy. He’s filled out with stacks of defined, strong muscle from hours of intense training. He’s a man now, and for the first time in our lives, he’s looking at me like I’m more than just the girl he used to know. He’s looking at me as though I’m the most desirable woman he’s ever seen.

My hand trails right up his body, moving beneath his shirt and exploring every inch before me. His skin is so warm, and a part of me wonders if that has something to do with his proximity to me, but then every train of thought slips from my mind when he moves impossibly closer, inching into me as his fingers tighten on my waist.

I know I should push him away, tell him to leave, and I know the second I do, he’ll obey it like gospel. He’s waiting for me to be the voice of reason, to be the smart one and stop this before we cross a line neither of us can come back from. Because we both know that when he eventually walks away, it’s going to destroy us both. Yet, there’s not a single part of me willing to tell him no.

“Zozo,” he whispers, and then before I even get a chance to bask in the bittersweetness of hearing my old nickname on his lips, he dips his head down to mine and kisses me.

My eyes close as I melt into him, his lips effortlessly moving against mine as though that’s where they’ve always belonged. I open up, allowing him to kiss me deeper, and when his tongue sweeps into my mouth, those damn butterflies cause havoc in the pit of my stomach.

He kissed me so many times when we were kids, but it’s never been like this, never been so full of intense passion, desire, and need. It’s everything I always knew it would be and more. Everything I’d always hoped for, and damn it, I kiss him back with everything I have, not knowing when I might ever get to do this again.

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